When Dividing Up Circles
by achildofthestars
Summary: HouseCam. Major Character Death. Sometimes, their life is like this. Light and barely there, or heavy and too real.
1. Falling star

**Disclaimer: DOH

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We are Death. We are one. We are a collection of consciousness, therefore many disguised.

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"You feeling alright?"

Pulling back from the window, Gregory House slightly turns to the woman wearing his forgotten t-shirt from last night. With the sun just beginning to rise up into the still dark sky sprinkled with sickening stars, her appearance is a mottled shade of gray and a splotch of orange on her thigh. She takes a small step forward, her bare feet making the softest of sounds against the wood floor before she halts with her arms folded across her chest.

"Go back to sleep."

Tilting her head slightly, Allison Cameron watches the lone figure in nothing but his pajama pants as the bare and almost non-existent light bathes him with something close to a halo around his battered body. The low utterance from his tired mouth would be termed gruff by anyone else, but she is not just anyone else. And she's fought hard and long enough to earn that place.

"I'm not the one who's been getting four hours of sleep at best every night."

"You're the one wanting to test my old bones with your naughty Kama Sutra positions."

There's not even a smile that falls onto Cameron's lips because in spite of his sharp, or at this time of night, dull, sarcasm, she's worried about him. She almost always is when these moments of nothing make it seem as if they're alone in the world and for once he doesn't seem so shielded. Even she's not ready for that.

"I don't think your 'old' bones are as old as you think they are. What are you thinking about?"

"My bones are older when they're around you. I'm not thinking about anything."

"That's just your favorite excuse about why we shouldn't be together. Why won't you tell me?"

"It's not my only excuse. There's nothing to tell."

"It's one of _many_ excuses. Are you sure?"

"No."

His gaze bores into her and Cameron feels as if he's searching her soul for any hint as to why she cares, which still makes her want to slap him to this day. It never makes any difference. Not the words, not the actions, not the details, but here she is, still trying for something, telling herself it's worth it. She wonders momentarily if he does the same.

"Come on, House."

Closing the sparse distance between them, a few breaths of silence and a meter of actual substance, she fits one arm under his to guide him away from the window.

House doesn't fight it. In fact, as he inhales the scent of her fruity scented conditioner in her tousled blonde hair, he wonders how he can keep her here forever. She fits so nicely into him, the not quite perfect-ness accentuating the irregularities and pronouncing just how painfully real she is to him.

Even as he lies down, Cameron's body conforms to his, molding herself as if trying to erase the barrier of distrust between them, attempting to take something crucial for his survival from him. He doesn't mind tonight as her warmth seeps into his skin sleepily and her ankle crosses his calf before she's motionless in quick slumber.

He watches her for just a couple of counted breaths, still not used to having her need him like this, like they're spending the rest of their lives together in this splendid world of black and white with dotted grays. She shouldn't, and he's told her that more than once, but she doesn't listen to him. He's rubbed off on her more than he cares to admit.

It flashes across his mind as a jolt of red and white an instant before he's asleep himself. All this time he's thought she's trying to take some of him for herself, perhaps she's just trying to make sure she's giving herself as much as possible to him. Figures.

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We watch without feeling – the couple wrestling each other in a battle of emotions and power plays that will ultimately mean nothing. I, the Fourth stream of consciousness, make note of the figure sleeping silently in grace. We all agree. This is who we've come to collect. Not yet, however, and so we fade away since we do have more pressing matters elsewhere, but a few of us stay, still attached since it hasn't been long, or so we think, since we said our own farewells to the human world we are glancing upon now.

The man mutters something in his sleep as he turns his head away from her before his body follows suit. It's not uncommon. Most of us have been here for longer than our human counterparts can fathom and we've seen many pairs toss in their sleep with their backs to each other.

The horn blares in the distance and we all turn. No lingering now since we're needed. But I, the Seventh stream, look back for a moment because I too lost someone when I was so close to happiness, though the recollection of the feeling has faded since I no longer feel as a human does. One of the pleasures and consequences of living here at the line. And when I say line, I mean _here_. At this bottom, or maybe even middle, ground where we guide souls onto a train that goes somewhere beyond us.

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**A/N: So, I have a question for any readers here. Would you like more, or what? I ask because I *personally* have come to hate ff,net. After _INS_, I don't quite like the environment. But for all HouseCam readers, I'm sure you could use an extra "shippy" story, right? So....**


	2. Fall for you

**Disclaimer: DOH

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We are Death. We take orders from no one. We are our own.

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"Since you _are_ down here, would you mind doing something, _anything_ productive?"

House tears his gaze from the magazine long enough to give her that look that tells her exactly what he plans on doing: nothing. He loves to make her frustrated with him.

"I could, but then the cosmic balance would be thrown off and life as we know it would end."

"Or Cuddy might get wind of it and figure out this is becoming your best hiding spot?"

"The only wind she's getting is between her legs, and even then it's just dust."

Cameron whacks the back of his head playfully with a file as she pushes behind him from where he's hiding at the main desk.

"I seem to remember you wanted to be that dust."

Some days like this, when the worst accidents are scraped knees and bee stings that don't result in anaphylactic shock, she thinks she could do this the rest of her life. And then she sees House, somewhere far in a hallway, somewhere close by in the clinic, somewhere in his office, somewhere with his new ducklings, or somewhere with Wilson, and she knows this stage of her life is temporary. Thank God, though it's only a figure of speech.

"Hitting a crippled! That's bad karma!"

"_House_! I have been looking for you for the past hour!"

Rolling his eyes, House turns his head to the right, searching for Cameron in the active ER and finding her smiling at him from where she's talking with a male nurse. Mouthing the word 'karma,' she turns her full attention to the nurse and they walk away. House fights the small smile and turns his head to look straight at his tormentor.

"Okay, you got me! Your turn. I'll count to twenty. One –."

"I am not playing Hide and Seek with you so uncover your eyes. What have you been doing?"

"I've been helping Cameron out down here."

Cuddy folds her arms and House swears that the top button of her blouse is going to pop off any second.

"You've been _helping_?"

"They call me Father Theresa."

"Sure they do. Come on, let's go."

"Can't. Girlfriend gets pissy when I'm not in her immediate line of sight."

"So she can shoot you at will?"

"With admiration and adoration."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Now, off your ass. Wilson found a case for you."

"I told you! My girlfr – ."

"Is nonexistent."

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"You need to tell Cuddy we're sleeping together."

"Turn the volume up, House."

House keeps the remote glued to his thigh.

"Did you hear me?"

Swirling her warm spaghetti around the fork, Cameron doesn't even bother looking at the man sitting beside her. She's not angry or frustrated because he's joking, which she's beyond used to. It's because he might not be joking at all.

"The show's back on. I want to see them catch this rat!"

"The only rat you'll be watching is the one hiding in Chase's hair if you don't tell Cuddy."

Her chewing is measured and slow, the taste not even registering because now she _is_ mad. She's perfectly fine with the way things are progressing between them, unknown to anyone else but Wilson. This is a secret that's kept them above water, and if he wants to chance it this soon, risk the drowning, then good for him. She just doesn't want to.

"Why don't _you_ tell her?"

"The woman didn't believe me. Kept saying you weren't that desperate or downgrading from Chase to a," he hand quotes in the air, "weenie head."

The anger fades at the response and she smiles softly in spite of herself, her hand unable to conceal it from its watcher who scowls at her reaction before taking a huge bite of his spaghetti.

"Why does she need to know, now?"

He doesn't reply to her, not even casting a glance her way as he finally switches the volume up, and she begins to think maybe it was all a ruse to begin with. Too bad for him she's upped her game by getting to know his.

_Verminators_ ends and their plates are sitting on the coffee table, waiting to be placed into the sink for a good cleaning by her, always her, because she lets him get away with it. _Dirty Jobs_ starts and he turns to her form resting an arm on the opposite arm rest. Cameron raises her eyebrows before moving her legs under her as if there needs to be some type of barrier between them.

"You care if people know?"

She almost doesn't know what to say. "You don't?"

It should be the other way around, House thinks somewhat ironically. He should want this to be a secret for as long as possible and Cameron's supposed to be bursting at the seams to let the world know. Before he can stop it, the nagging worry in the back of his mind slips out.

"You embarrassed?"

"No," she answers softly before asking her own question. "You?"

"Not particularly."

"Fine, I'll tell Cuddy tomorrow."

Cameron watches his expression, though she's surprised to see relief. Had he really thought she was embarrassed? Of course, he had. His fingers graze her ankle, light at first before becoming heavy. Sometimes their life is like this. Light and barely there, or heavy and too real.

Standing, she takes his hand in hers, the weight just beginning to let her breathe.

"The dishes – ."

Isn't it her who's meant to worry about the mundane act? Cameron smiles at him as she helps pull him up to stand. "Can wait."


End file.
